


What's Easy

by SailorChibi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!John, Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bondage, Fluff, John knows what Sherlock needs, M/M, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is hard at work when he catches an omega scent. He corners John, intending to fuck him, but John turns the tables on him. He's an alpha, too, and he intends to be the one mating Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> This was written for a [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=119473695#t119473695) on the kink meme.

Sherlock is in his bedroom working on one of those delicate (read: dangerous) experiments that John refuses to allow him to keep in the kitchen when he smells it. At first the intoxicating scent is disregarded as unimportant in terms of what he's working on, but as the seconds tick by and the scent grows stronger, it finally piques his interest enough that he looks away from his experiment and towards the door. It's partially open and he vaguely recalls hearing John return to the flat about an hour ago. Logical then to assume that the source of the scent is John, but John isn't...

He isn't...

Is he?

Intrigued, Sherlock leaves his experiment behind to ferment and moves out into the corridor. The kitchen is silent but the telly is on and that's where the scent is coming from. It's making his brain feel muddled and confused as blood pools between his thighs, engorging his cock. God but it's tantalizing. He walks forward on unsteady legs and some distant part of his mind that's not clouded by a storm of pheromones notes that in the future he must do more experiments on omegas and their effect on alphas in the general periphery. 

But in the meantime, he's got an omega in heat to track down.

John is sitting on the sofa, calmly watching telly. "Oh, hello," he says, surprised. "Finished already?"

"What?" Sherlock looks at him blankly for a moment before remembering his experiment. "Oh, yes. It wasn't all that interesting."

"Pity that. You wasted all those hours."

Sherlock shrugs and moves closer, realizing that it _is_ John. The scent is getting stronger and it's making his mouth water. He didn't realize John was an omega; he'd, apparently mistakenly, thought that the good doctor was an alpha. It's the first time in his life that Sherlock is relieved he's wrong. He slides down onto the far end of the sofa and John offers him a patient smile before glancing back at the telly. Sherlock's heart is hammering as his body tenses. One right move and he'll have John pinned down and it will be _so good_...

He pounces.

There's a disorienting moment when the world tilts and he's not entirely sure what's going on.

Then he hits the sofa and a heavy weight comes down on his spine. Strong hands grip his wrists and yank them behind his back, pinning them in place. Sherlock gasps and, panicked, begins to struggle instinctively, trying to get free, his instincts demanding he take the intruder down. But John - it is John, yes - is patient and holds Sherlock in place until he stops fighting. Almost as an afterthought, he reaches over Sherlock's head and puts the cap back onto a small bottle that's been sitting innocently on the coffee table all this time. Within a minute the enthralling scent begins to fade from the room. Sherlock's head gradually clears and he realizes that he's been fooled. John's not an omega, but he is a doctor who is capable of getting omega secretions.

"John, what is the meaning of this?" he demands, his voice muffled slightly by the cushions.

"I should think it obvious, Sherlock," John says mildly, stroking a comforting hand across Sherlock's back. "I want you and you want me. I've seen the way you look at me sometimes though I'm not sure you even realize you're doing it. We're both alphas which puts one of us in the position of having to submit if this is going to go anywhere.”

"Get off!"

"Come on, Sherlock.” There is definite evidence of John’s interest pressing against his hip and a hand runs soothingly down his spine. “Don’t do this to us any longer. I’m bloody tired of the occasional kiss before you shy away.”

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut, trying to understand that this is really happening. Yes, alright, he's had the occasional spark of interest in John, but he's never considered doing this. He'd still be in his bedroom working on his experiment if it weren't for the fact that the bloody omega hormones sent his body into a tailspin that overwrote his mind. He squirms beneath John but, for a man who only just reaches 5'7, John is surprisingly strong. The months of (somewhat) regular food, sleep and exercise have given a sort of stockiness that Sherlock, tall and slender, lacks. If he could just get onto his side he'd have a chance, but pinned as he is, he's helpless and John knows it.

"I don't want this, John," he tries. "Please, I know you won't force yourself on me."

"You're right, I won't. But I also know you're lying. It's alright, Sherlock. It's not like it used to be, you know. There's no shame in being an alpha who submits. It won't take away from your work on the cases. No one will think any less of you." Cool leather encloses Sherlock's wrists, lacing them tightly together. When he twists in an effort to get free, it _hurts_ and he can't stop the pained whimper that escapes as a result. John shushes him. "Don't worry, love. I won't hurt you.”

He very much doubts that but Sherlock isn't given a say in the matter. John shifts off of him and flips his body over so that Sherlock is lying on his back. His hands tingle painfully beneath him and he grimaces. John just smiles patiently and begins unbuckling Sherlock's trousers with deft fingers. He unfastens the button and unzips them, then tugs them down off Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock's mouth is dry as, slowly but surely, every inch of him is bared to John's hungry gaze. He inwardly swears at himself for wearing a button-up shirt, which doesn't need to come off for John to see his chest.

“John,” he says and to his horror his voice catches, like he might cry.

“Sherlock.” John stops and perches on the sofa beside him. “I know you want this. I’m right, aren’t I?”

The awful thing is that John _is_ right. He does want this more than anything. He craves the touch of John’s hands on his body. “Yes, but...” Sherlock can hardly speak past the fear that’s building in his throat. “I...”

“You’re scared,” John says simply.

That gives Sherlock pause. He’s been accused of being scared many times in his life and most of the time it’s a filthy lie. This time, though, John may be correct and he doesn’t like that one bit. A sulky scowl forms on his face and he gives John a challenging look. “I am not _scared_ ,” he says, the word dripping with derision. “I just don’t see the point.”

John’s lips twitch with suppressed amusement but he nods gravely. “I’ll show you then, shall I?” he says, and then he leans down and kisses Sherlock. He keeps it soft and chaste at first, just a simple brushing of lips. Sherlock kisses him back tentatively. He gasps when John’s fingers caress his nipples and his lips part, and John takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. It’s different and Sherlock feels dizzy trying to keep up with him, trying to match John stroke for stroke.

“Good?” John says, pulling back and casually pinching Sherlock’s nipples.

Sherlock doesn’t respond. He can’t stop squirming and doesn’t know whether to move towards the feelings John’s inducing or move away from them. He’s never been stimulated like this before. His parents always made it perfectly clear that as an alpha he should only be having sex with an omega, and since most alphas and omegas only had sex when an omega was in heat, natural instinct would take over and eliminate any necessary thought. The very idea has always been abhorrent to Sherlock and it’s one of the reasons he’d been so glad John was an alpha. 

Apparently being of the same gender doesn’t stop certain things from happening.

And this… he doesn’t know what this is. It’s different than anything he could have imagined.

“John,” he says.

“I’m here, Sherlock. Just relax, alright? I’ll make you feel so good.” John’s voice is a dark promise. He wraps his hand around Sherlock’s cock and pumps gently, learning the different feel of it from his own. Sherlock gasps, his eyes fluttering shut, as he unconsciously pushes up, searching for more friction. It’s not at all like masturbation, which he has done on occasion. He can’t tell where John’s going to touch next. It’s a complete shock when John’s other hand cups his balls and rolls them gently. It’s a surprise when John’s fingers wander lower, brushing against the sensitive skin underneath. 

It makes him yelp when John leans down and licks the tip of his cock.

“John!”

John chuckles a bit. “You taste good,” he says approvingly, beginning the long, deliberate strokes again. “You’re not an omega so I guess I’ll have to prepare you.” He takes his hands away and Sherlock only just barely manages to bite back a moan of protest. There’s an odd squelching sound and then John is rubbing his fingers, now coated with a thick glossy gel, together to warm them. Sherlock can’t help tensing even as his thighs willingly part at John’s gentle urging.

“It won’t hurt?” The question slips out before he can stop it.

“It’ll be alright,” John murmurs, kissing him again. It’s hard to keep up with him, John who knows so many tricks, and at first Sherlock doesn’t notice the finger caressing his hole until it pushes inside. Then he jerks away, his chest tightening, a rough gasp pushing out of his lips. It feels strangely good, his body accepting the intrusion eagerly, but at the same time a part of his mind is screaming about how utterly _wrong_ this all is. He’s supposed to be the alpha, he’s the one who is supposed to be mounting, not the mounted. A strangled whimper forces itself out of his throat as his head rings with pain.

“Hurts. Make it stop,” he gasps. “John, this is... all wrong.”

“Just relax, Sherlock, and it will go away.” A warm hand brushes through his hair and Sherlock leans desperately into the touch. “It’s your biology trying to take control,” he murmurs in Sherlock’s ear. He slides another finger inside of Sherlock and twists his hand just right.

“Oh!” Sherlock’s hips jerk and he whimpers, stunned at the feeling of pleasure that has reverberated throughout his body. He pants softly, wanting to feel more of it. “Do that again.”

John obliges and more of that warm feeling shutters through Sherlock, who keens and twists his head back. His hands are still firmly bound so he can’t run away even though part of him wants to. His mind is still trying to fight this but it feels so _good_ that he doesn’t want it to stop. A desperate sound escapes him and he presses back against John more firmly, biology waging a war against his nerves, which are all humming with sheer pleasure. It hurts and aches and burns and throbs and he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

“John. _John_.”

“I’m here. Shh.” John slides his fingers out and shifts closer, kneeling between Sherlock’s parted thighs. The first touch of his cock to Sherlock’s entrance causes Sherlock to tense, but John’s hands gently stroke his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest, tweaking his nipples, caress his stomach and thighs and navel, slide around his cock as he murmurs comforting words. He pushes in slowly, allowing just the head to breach Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock arches his back and moans. It feels incredible but oh, his mind is going wild, this war threatening to tear him apart. He’s always considered himself above transport, easily able to ignore his body’s needs, but this – this could go either way, he wants to succumb to both.

“John,” he sobs.

John takes it for the invitation it is and slides home, his balls resting against Sherlock’s arse. He pulls out and then pushes back in, setting a steady rhythm. Sherlock feels deliciously full every time John enters him. He forces his eyes to open and looks up at John. This would be easier if Sherlock had been born an omega, but then it wouldn’t be them, would it? He and John never do things the easy way, it’s not in their nature. This is how it should be.

“Harder,” he bites out, forcing the word out.

“Sherlock, fuck,” John breathes, his hips automatically responding to the command, punishingly hard strokes that make Sherlock’s body shake. His hand wraps around Sherlock’s cock, his alpha cock, and begins pumping, and it’s slick and hot and sweet and Sherlock can’t hold it back any longer, he _can’t_ – 

He cries out something unintelligible, his mind, the loser, falling blissfully silent as he comes. John thrusts once more and groans deeply, face flushing. He doesn’t knot and is able to pull out a moment later. Semen gushes down Sherlock’s thighs, something few alphas have ever experienced. It’s different. He thinks he might like to do an experiment on it, later, when he can think again. For now he turns to face John, who looks worried.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he says.

“No. Quite underhanded, though,” Sherlock remarks sleepily, impressed in spite of himself. It’s a sign of how well John knows him that he fell for this. His bum aches and his arms are numb but he feels loose, sated, well-fucked.

“Well if I’d waited for you to approach me, we’d have been in our graves first.” John reaches for the cuffs.

Sherlock twists away.

John arches an eyebrow and Sherlock looks at him somewhat apprehensively.

“Can we... again?”

A broad smile is John’s answer.


End file.
